


Six Palms A’Swaying

by spikesgirl58



Series: The Twelve Fics of Christmas [17]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:10:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: Set in the Hot Tropical Nights universe, Illya shows Napoleon how they celebrate Christmas in the tropics.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sparky955](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparky955/gifts).



 

“ _Joyeux Noel_ , Napoleon! _”_

Napoleon waved to the desk clerk as he entered the lobby. It was another of Illya’s cousins.  Napoleon had a sneaking suspicion that any man, woman or child who wanted employment was related to Illya one way or the other.  The folks here tended to help each other out.  It was one of the reasons Napoleon adore Rangi’s tiny island community.  “ _Joyeux Noel, mon ami!_ _Où est Illya_? _”_

“ _Son bureau_. _”_ He’d been out getting some supplies when he got a call from the hotel requesting his presence at seven. 

 “Only he would be working on Christmas Eve,” Napoleon muttered.  The lobby of the Kia Ora was festively decorated with poinsettias and anthuriums.  The pine tree, although artificial, looked real enough to pass muster.  And everywhere there was tissue garland and garishly colored tinsel.  It was the holidays in Tahiti, a month long celebration of friends and family.  In another two days, they would be off to Papeete to be with Illya’s family.  For now, however, they were still on Rangi.

Napoleon followed a familiar path and smiled to himself. He remembered a time not too long ago when he first walked into the Kia Ora’s lobby, unfamiliar and slightly frightening.  His agent had hired Illya to be Napoleon’s guide and he’d proven to be a thoughtful and skilled guide, along with everything else.  Napoleon had fallen in love with the Russian the moment they locked eyes.  It was his very good fortune that Illya had as well.

Just the memory of Illya fondling him in the pool was enough to make Napoleon’s penis wake and he glanced around, to make sure no one could see him. As with most hotels, the Kia Ora was nearly empty.  Come New Year’s, it would be packed with travelers, but for now the resort rested, taking its leisure. 

He could hear the waves breaking on the other side of the island. It faced the Pacific Ocean and it was never quiet.  However, the Kia Ora faced the lagoon and it was serene.  Waves from the lagoon lapped the sandy beach and the warm tropical breeze rustled the fronds of the palm trees, sounding like rain.  It had taken Napoleon some time to be able to differentiate between that and real rain.

Such thoughts helped fuel Napoleon’s libido even more as he thought of the times they’d made love to the sound of rain pounding down on the roof of their home. There was one time in his life when such a reaction would have left him self-loathing, but not anymore. 

He stopped before a thatched hut and knocked on the door. “Illya?”

“ _Oui?”_  They talked a hodgepodge of French, English and a little Tahitian.  Napoleon had amazed himself with how quickly he picked up the prominent language, but immersion did seem to be the way to learn.

“You sent for me, m’lord?” Napoleon opened the door and grinned.  Illya was behind his desk, paperwork stacked everywhere. Illya was one of those people who thought best when everything was at his fingertips.  Napoleon was just the opposite.  It had led to some interesting discussions.

“In about twenty,” Illya said and hung up the phone. “Finally, a reprieve.   I was beginning to think I’d have to hang my stocking up and wait for Santa here.”

Napoleon checked his watch. “I’m right on time.”

“You are, but I’ve been running all day. Whoever thought running a hotel was easy needs to have his head examined.” 

“I offered to make an honest man out of you.” Napoleon shut the door behind him.  Unlike most of the rooms in the hotel, this one was closed entirely to the outside, rendering it nearly soundproof.  The rest were open at the top to invite the cool trade winds in.  Most of the time, between that and the ceiling fans, it was enough to make the rooms comfortable.  He walked a few steps into the office, feeling out of place.  Strangely, it was the only spot at the resort that evoked such a feeling.  Possibly it was because it reminded him slightly of Vic’s office back home.  “You wanted to prove yourself.”

“That’s right. Say what you will about me.  I am not a gigolo.”  Illya stood and Napoleon’s penis surged again.  Illya’s tropical shirt was open nearly to the waist, exposing a tanned, slightly hairy chest.  The silver medallion Napoleon had given him their first Christmas together caught the light and sparkled. 

“It’s the last word I would use to describe you. Rakishly handsome, heart stopping, or perhaps even too sexy for your own good, but never a gigolo.”  Napoleon grinned, letting the humor go all the way up his eyes.

Illya came around the desk and embraced Napoleon. Reaching down to cup Napoleon’s genitals, he murmured, “Did you miss me waking up alone this morning?”

“Can’t you tell?” Without shame, Napoleon thrust into Illya’s hand, his eyes half closed.  “God I wanted you so badly.”

“How badly?” Illya’s fingers moved to Napoleon’s ass.

“Let’s just say the shower is squeaky clean now after the scrubbing I gave it.”

“Mmmm.” Illya kissed him, leaving no portion of Napoleon’s willing mouth unexplored.  “You taste good.”

“I had some eggnog with Javier just before coming.” Napoleon licked his lips, cherishing the flavor that was uniquely Illya.  “He’d never had it before.”

“I can believe it. There’s a lot of things we didn’t have before you arrived.”  Illya moved to Napoleon’s neck, kissing, nipping, and licking away the sweat.  “God, I want you right now.”

“Illya… are you sure?” Napoleon tipped his head back further, his eyes closed in pleasure

“What do you mean?” Illya pulled back, his breath coming fast.

“In your office? You could be interrupted at any time.”

Illya considered that for a moment, then walked to the door. He locked it and turned back to Napoleon with a sly grin.  He arched an eyebrow and returned.  Napoleon stood there, unsure if he should move, but Illya pushed him gently, sending him stumbling back against the desk.  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure there was nothing in his way and then hitched himself up onto the top of it.

“Like this?”

“Love that.” Illya’s hands were suddenly everywhere and for a moment, Napoleon panicked.  Then he relaxed.  He was with Illya, considerate and loving Illya and the one person Napoleon had nothing to fear from.  Illya slid Napoleon’s pants down and he stepped out of them.  Suddenly, his penis was enveloped with wet heat.  Illya’s fingers curled into the flesh of Napoleon’s ass as he moved his mouth, sucking and scraping the sensitive skin with his teeth.

Napoleon was certainly no stranger to blow jobs, at least not since meeting Illya, but this one took his breath away. He climaxed long before he wanted to.  He panted from the exertion that simply climaxing took in this heat.  The sweat trickled from his body, despite the ceiling fans.  It cooled him and he took a moment to gather his wits. 

Always the gentleman, he braced himself up on his elbows. “What about you?  Can I return the favor?”

Illya guided Napoleon’s hand down to the dampened crouch of Illya’s pants. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear me.  Can you get me a change of pants?  I have an extra pair hanging in the bathroom.”

“Just for times like this?” Napoleon sat up and tucked his very satisfied and sleepy penis back into his pants. 

“More like I end up having to work on something with maintenance and end up covered in grease.”

Napoleon walked into the small bathroom and turned on the light. He stopped, his breath stolen by the poem carefully written upon the mirror. 

_Aimons toujours ! Aimons encore !_   
_Quand l'amour s'en va, l'espoir fuit._   
_L'amour, c'est le cri de l'aurore,_   
_L'amour c'est l'hymne de la nuit._

_Ce que le flot dit aux rivages,_   
_Ce que le vent dit aux vieux monts,_   
_Ce que l'astre dit aux nuages,_   
_C'est le mot ineffable : Aimons !_

_L'amour fait songer, vivre et croire._   
_Il a pour réchauffer le coeur,_   
_Un rayon de plus que la gloire,_   
_Et ce rayon c'est le bonheur !*_

“Can you read it?” Illya asked.

“Most of it,” Napoleon admitted, looking at Illya’s reflection. His reading of French wasn’t as good as his verbal skills. 

“I tried to find something that you could manage. It’s not good giving someone a love poem he can’t read.”

“This is Hugo, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful, Illya. Thank you.”

“I wanted you to know that I’m just not some beach bum you picked up on the street and how much I cherish you.”

“Never.” Napoleon kissed him, smiling as he tasted himself in Illya’s mouth.  That’s when he saw the flowers, not the tropical blossoms that usually graced Rangi’s tables, but daisies, roses and tulips.  “How did you get these?”

“Arenui was in Honolulu yesterday, so I had him pick them up. I’m not sure how long they will last in our heat, but I wanted you to have a little of your home for tonight.”

Napoleon laughed and kissed Illya, then leaned close to the flowers to inhale their fragrance. “Oh, I haven’t smelled tulips in years.”

Illya pulled on his pants and buttoned two of his shirt buttons. “And now I am off for the weekend.  It is time for us to celebrate.”

“I already have.”

“I’m just getting started.” Illya unlocked the office door and pushed it wide.  “Shall we?”

“I’m in the employee’s lot, not that it makes much difference. The hotel is pretty empty, isn’t it?”

“Tonight it is, but things will pick up after Christmas and we will have a New Year’s Party to shake dust from the rafters. Now, come.  I have something to show you.”  He took Napoleon’s hand and they walked from the main building towards the lagoon. 

Napoleon paused and watched the moon reflected on the water. “It’s so peaceful here.  I thought I loved the hustle and bustle of the big city, but I was wrong.”  The trades had stopped and the night was dead still.  These were the hard nights in the tropics.  Sleep would not come easily tonight.

“You don’t miss it at all? Not the nightlife or the excitement?”

“Illya, before I met you, my nightlife was sitting in front of my typewriter or possibly watching an old movie with Maizie.”

“And now it’s sitting in front of your typewriter or watching an old movie with me.”

“Hardly. Illya, I have had so many incredible experiences since moving here, met some of the most loving and caring people and done some things I still don’t know the words to with you.”  He stopped and tilted his head back.  “In New York, you can’t see the stars, not really.  It’s never dark there and it never stops.  Here I can feel life, see life, there it moved around me.”  He sighed.

“But?”

“Well, I do have to admit that I miss Manny’s.”

“Who is Manny?”

“Not a who, a what. It is the corner deli.  You got the best latkes and short ribs there.  We won’t even mention his bagels.  My mum and I would always stop there after Temple.  After she died, Maizie and I would go…”  Napoleon trailed off and sighed.

“You don’t miss your mother, I know that. Maizie?”

“Yeah, I love my friends here, but I do miss her.”

“Would you like to go back for a visit?”

“In December? Are you out of your mind?”  Napoleon laughed and hugged Illya.  “Ask me again in say, May.”

“All right, I will.” Illya kissed him and then wiggled out of the embrace.  “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Well, as the honeymoon suite is empty, I thought we might make use of it.”

“As opposed to our room?”

“It has air conditioning…”

“I’m there!” Napoleon laughed.  “I’ve never even seen the inside of that suite.”

“It has a private pool, a kitchenette, all the amenities so you don’t have to leave for a long time.”

“Sounds perfect.”

The room was set back from the rest of the other huts to afford privacy. However, Napoleon could see that the lights were on and a tune was playing softly.  Then he gasped.  “That’s _Sleigh Bells_ by the Boston pops.  I love that song.  They never play it here.”

“I know. Most people here don’t know what a sleigh bell is much less have heard one.” Illya paused and unlocked the suite’s door. “After you, my love.”

Napoleon stepped into the room just as the ‘horse’ neighed in the song and stopped, gasping.   There was a large pine tree, decorated with bright ornaments and garland, proper garland, not the sort that they favored here and in Papeete.  The lights twinkled, reflected on the shiny paper of the gifts surrounding the base of the tree.  Then he saw the menorah.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know much about Hanukkah, but I remembered that a menorah featured pretty prominently.”

“Very much so. And this one, it looks just like Maizie’s.  How did you manage…?”

“I brought it with me, of course.” Maizie stepped around the corner and smiled.  “Happy Hanukkah, girlfriend.”

Napoleon looked from her to Illya and back.

“I think I surprised him,” Illya said with a grin.

“I think you killed him.” Maizie gathered Napoleon up in a big hug.  “It is so good to see you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“It was Illya’s idea. He thought you might be homesick.  He couldn’t get the Rockettes, so you’ll have to settle for me.”  She kissed him and gave Illya a thumb’s up.

“There is nothing settling about you.” Napoleon then caught a whiff of something.  “Wait, you didn’t… you couldn’t have.”

“Well. Let’s just say that it’s the longest take out order Manny’s has ever made.” Maizie gestured to the small enclosed patio, decorated with lights and tropical flowers.  “Dinner is served.”  She tugged Napoleon by the hand, but he held back and looked at Illya.

“How did you…?”

Illya grinned. “ _Joyeux Noel et_ _Joyeux Hanukkah, mon amor.”_ He looked at Maizie and nodded happily.  “Now let’s eat.  I’m starving.”

 

The English translation of the love poem -

Always love! Let's love again!

When love leaves, hope flees.

Love is the cry of the dawn,

Love is the hymn of the night.

 

What the flood says to the shores,

What the wind tells the old mountains,

What the star says to the clouds,

It is the ineffable word: Let us love!

 

Love makes us think, live and believe.

It has to warm the heart,

A ray more than glory.

 

Victor Hugo (1802-1885)

 


End file.
